


Please Don't Slow Me Down (If I'm Going Too Fast)

by LynnLarsh



Series: Domesticity is Boring [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Car Sex, Explicit Language, F/F, Femslash, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:25:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2266254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/pseuds/LynnLarsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not often one of their jobs goes south, but with a criminal network as vast as Jamie's, it's impossible to be perfect 100% of the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Don't Slow Me Down (If I'm Going Too Fast)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kali_asleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/gifts).



> Another little peek into the life and times of my new OTP obsession. Seriously. My love for Jamie and Seb has now reached disgusting proportions and I am very much not sorry. All the thanks in the world to my beta, my love, and my enabler kali_asleep. This one's for you.
> 
> Title stolen from The Stokes' brilliant song "Reptilia" which you should totally listen to while reading this. Legit though. Here. I'll help you out.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8-tXG8KrWs
> 
> Enjoy!

It's not often one of their jobs goes south, but with a criminal network as vast as Jamie's, it's impossible to be perfect 100% of the time; they ARE human, after all. There is the rare occasion when Seb will make a mistake, or rarer still when Jamie will make one. Those tend to be worse, a single fuck up ending in catastrophe rather than the easy cleanups Seb will tend to leave behind. One wrong move and the whole line of dominos starts collapsing into each other one by one. 

This is one of those times. 

"We have two minutes, forty-two seconds," Jamie says between explosions, a shower of debris raining down on them despite the partial cover of their makeshift barricade. What once was a rather posh ballroom is now a war zone. Million dollar paintings have been reduced to nothing more than shreds of charred canvas hung upon crumbling walls. Sparkling fragments of the chandelier litter the vast expanse of rubble-strewn marble and granite that's pretending to be the floor. And Sebina and Jamie are currently ducked behind what once was a decadently dressed dining table, Seb's gun occasionally poking out from behind tarnished mahogany to keep the remaining hit men at bay. 

"Bit busy at the moment," Seb grunts, pulling back to reload; she's running out of ammo. She'd brought six clips thinking it best to over pack, better safe than sorry. But sorry was at least four clips ago. The universe is probably laughing at her. "Two minutes and forty-two seconds for what exactly?" A bullet takes a chunk out of the broken table leg next to Seb's arm. She fires blindly in the direction it came from, something she despises doing; she usually has nothing if not perfect aim. This day just keeps getting better by the minute. 

"Two minutes, thirty-six," Jamie mutters, eyeing her phone rather obsessively as she crouches at Seb's side. "Until this whole place blows sky high." Seb stops shooting, looks over at Jamie to see if she's joking (Seb's learned to expect it more often than not) but all Jamie adds by way of elaboration is a disturbingly serious, "Boom." 

Better and fucking better. 

"Okay," Seb closes her eyes for a moment, breathes in, breathes out, opens her eyes again. "Okay." And then she forces herself to her feet, emptying the chamber. 

Two kill shots, one miss (reflective fucking stemware; who the fuck thought crystal place settings were a good fucking idea?), and two eventually fatal wounds (one shoulder, one stomach). But that still leaves seven men. Seb ducks back behind the table to find Jamie eyeing her in a way that's unfamiliar, indefinable. It doesn't last though. 

"Two minutes, fifteen," she says, abruptly looking away. Then, with a smile that's far too excited for comfort, she adds, "Do you think we're going to make it?" 

Seb watches her for a couple of seconds (all she can afford, really) and then checks her belt. One clip left. Fuck. "Yeah, sure," she says, reloading the gun with the last of her bullets. "Let's find out." 

When she catches Jamie's gaze again, the look in her eyes is almost expectant, eager. Seb doesn't quite know what to make of that, has never been that good at reading Jamie anyway, so she focuses on what she is good at instead. 

A bullet hits the table directly between the two of them. It's at close range, close enough to explode clean through and shower them both in shards of wood. Judging by the angle (a fraction closer to her, thank god) whoever fired is crouching at Seb's three o'clock. The other bullets that fly overhead (same caliber, same impact ratio) imply a substantial distance, poor aim at long range, and minimal to no threat. If they do this right. 

"One minute, nineteen," Jamie whispers at her side, and she sounds almost giddy over it, voice sing-song and light and having much, _much_ too much fucking fun right now. But what can she say? Seb's adrenaline is pumping too, her heart is drumming so loudly it's like the Battle Hymn of the fucking Republic in her ears, and she hasn't felt this alive in months. 

So she shakes her head, throws Jamie a smirk, and says, "On my mark?" Because this is hardly new territory; Jamie may be running the game, but Seb's saved their arses enough times to know how to play it. 

Jamie nods, still grinning like a kid at Christmas, and grabs Seb's knife from where it's strapped to her thigh, goes about using it to cut away all the fabric of her dress from the knees down. She proceeds to make a slit up to her waist, a stretch of creamy skin and bright pink lace showing between strips of black satin. And Seb can't help but be drawn to it, licks her lips and stares, because they're both dirty and sweating and high on the thrill of it all and she's so close it's almost painful not to just reach out and- 

"Fifty-four seconds, Tigerlily," Jamie interrupts by way of a soft, mocking purr, though her grin has shifted from gleeful to hungry. Seb swallows, snatches her knife back to tear through the fabric of her own dress (a skin-tight, red number Jamie forced her into hours ago) and kicks her heels to the side (fucking finally). 

Another couple of bullets shoot past overhead (particularly horrendous aim from the one in the left corner; that gives him four rounds left) and Seb eases up onto the balls of her feet, readies herself for a sprint, glances periodically at Jamie to make sure she's ready too. Not that she wouldn't be; Jamie would be bouncing on her fucking heels already if they weren't crouched behind the table. 

Another couple of shots. Five, three, one, four, and a full round left in each consecutive chamber. Definite room for error (and she's still missing mental stats for two men) but it's as good as it's going to get with six bullets left and one exit. So Seb takes a breath, nods once at Jamie for the go ahead, and then wrenches herself to her feet. As pre-rehearsed, Jamie makes a b-line for the door, skimming as close to the wall as she can, the best way to alleviate half the targeted surface area. Seb follows in an arc, a human shield of reflexes, speed, and a perfectly timed bullet for five of the seven men. The last bullet she saves, because they're not in the clear yet and the two remaining hit men have a total of nine bullets left between them (not counting extra clips). 

Practically in emphasis, Seb catches movement out of the corner of her eye, both men shifting their aim from Seb to Jamie. One bullet left. No time. No other options. Calculated risk is one thing, but this is a gamble, a roll of the dice. Because one of these men can't shoot for shit, which means Seb has to shoot the other one, and she has no idea which one is which, which is the better option so- 

It's 50/50, one of three little plastic cups with Jamie's life underneath it. And it's not something Seb's used to. Fear. That sick sensation that is a combination of panic and desperation and hopelessness. But it's also not something she's unfamiliar with, and if the army taught her anything, it's how to harness it, control it, master it. So Seb chooses the man on the left (his face explodes in ribbons of blood and chunks of flesh) and she prays she's made the right choice, dives headlong into Jamie's side and tackles them both to the ground. 

A bullet embeds itself in the door frame instead of Seb's back, instead of Jamie's head, and the relief is almost palpable, a literal high. She feels invincible, floaty, like laughing and killing and fucking and- 

Time equalizes, her body moves of it's own accord, and she's practically dragging Jamie through the exit before the remaining shooter has a chance to fire a second bullet, the door slamming shut between them. The Intel didn't say anything about guards on watch, but it was bad Intel that got them into this position in the first place, so Seb keeps an eye out, keeps a hand on Jamie's wrist as she attempts to locate their getaway car. The driver Jamie picked for today was hardly incompetent, should have heard the shooting and been waiting outside, but he's nowhere to be found. 

"Thirty-seven seconds," Jamie half laughs, half pants, keeping up with Seb's sprint, but only just; unlike Seb, she didn't abandon the shoes (Louboutins, darling). Though for what it's worth, she's unsurprisingly efficient at running in them. 

Seb spots the car finally, steers Jamie towards it. "Radius?" 

"A block or so and we should be fine," Jamie grins, because there's no way they're getting in the car and a block away in under thirty seconds. Especially when Seb sees their driver's brain splattered against the windshield. Well that explains that. 

"Get in," Seb barks as she yanks the driver out of his seat and piles him onto the pavement, uses his jacket to wipe away enough of him to see through. She takes his place, starts the car, floors it. 

"Ten, nine, eight," Jamie starts, and surely it would have been too much to hope they could make it through this without a countdown. "Seven, six, five." 

Seb tears out of the lot and through the beautifully landscaped entryway, tires catching on grass and rose bushes and possibly a squirrel or two. Jamie continues her countdown, eyes glued to her phone and getting more manic, more thrilled as she gets closer to one. 

"Four, three, two," she practically beams, turns completely around in her seat for a better view and whispers, "Boom," no more than a millisecond before Seb's rear view is illuminated. 

The explosion jerks their car forward at least a meter, the back end fish-tailing as Seb attempts to maintain control. Jamie's laugh blends with the rumble and crash of the building behind them almost beautifully, strangely perfect. And Seb could kiss her for it, for many reasons, really. Adrenaline and survival and destruction and how Jamie's dress has hiked up just right around her upper thighs. But Seb keeps driving, gets them as far from the chaos as possible, still has a job to do, still needs to focus on something other than the rush of their escape or the high of being alive (especially when nearly everyone else back at the estate isn't) or just how fucking horny she suddenly is. 

Seb doesn't properly relax until they're off the main roads and onto the strip that leads from the central hub of the city to their safe house. It's practically a shack in the middle of butt fuck nowhere compared to some of Jamie's more glamorous set-ups, but it's well hidden, buried under miles of documentation and extortion that swears none of it exists. 

And the drive there is perfect, streets empty of all idiots, nothing but foliage and horizon on all sides. Seb lets her foot lean a bit heavier on the gas; the car is a Jaguar XKR-S, jumps forward from 90 to 160 km/h instantly. A rumble of sleek, black power beneath her hands. She almost considers putting the top down, letting the breeze batter them senseless as they tear down the strip, but Jamie would probably kill her; even after a two hour gun show, her hair still looks fucking pristine. 

They pass the only car they've seen for miles, zip around and away until it's nothing but a speck in their rearview, and it's not till then that Seb realizes how quiet Jamie has been. She glances to the side, focus shifting from road to Jamie to road, and there it is again. That look in her eyes. 

Seb's seen all manner of emotion and thought and manipulation pass through those eyes, has seen Jamie transform herself at will using those eyes alone, but this. This is something she hasn't seen before. Like lust and confusion and danger and awe and why the fuck it's suddenly pointed at Seb is driving her mad. Because the thrill of their escape is still buzzing in Seb's veins and the intoxicating speed of the car is making her feel invincible and Jamie is looking at her in a way that shouldn't be hot but is and- 

And she forces herself to stay focused on the road, deliberately loosens her grip on the wheel and rests her free hand on her knee. Because she sure as hell isn't going to let Jamie know that she'd love nothing more than to pull over and fuck her brains out. Even though she would. Right now. And Jamie probably knows it anyway. But still. 

Seb clears her throat. "Why are you staring at me like that?" She says by way of some poorly executed deflection. 

"Like what?" Jamie says, of course, and her voice sounds completely innocent. But Seb knows better by now. 

"Like you want to eat me alive," Seb sniffs, looking briefly back at Jamie out of the corner of her eye. She's still got that strange expression about her, but now she's grinning, her eyes shinning, and Seb has to force herself not to keep staring. It would be pretty fucking embarrassing if they escaped all that chaos just to crash into a tree. 

The sound of Jamie unbuckling her seatbelt is almost deafening, an echo of concentrated sound that's magnified by the sudden tension. Seb keeps her eyes straight, her posture relaxed, but even then, she can't stop her hand from tightening, white knuckled, around the steering wheel. Jamie shifts closer, closer (the crack and groan of leather, the subtle tap of perfectly painted nails against the dash) until Seb can feel Jamie's breath on her neck. 

"Maybe I do," she purrs, a vibration of sound that Seb can feel against her skin and down her spine and deep, deep into the center of her chest. A sound that's doing nothing for her focus and fucking everything for the growing heat between her legs. Jamie licks her lips; she's close enough (practically looming over her now) that Seb can feel that too. "You want me to, Tigerlily? Would you like me to eat you alive?" 

It should be corny and cliché and Seb should probably push Jamie away, roll her eyes, keep her attentions on the road, but fuck. All she can manage is a smirk and a thick, shaky swallow. 

"Wouldn't be a bad way to go, Boss." 

Jamie hums, drags her lips up from Seb's neck to her jaw, whispers against the corner of her mouth, "Wouldn't it just?" And then Jamie's lips are back against her neck, tongue flicking lightly out to graze against Seb's pulse point (probably wondering if it's possible to gauge Seb's heart rate that way). Seb can't help the way her eyes try to roll back at that, a weak spot of hers that Jamie loves to abuse (sometimes literally), but they're still in the car, still pushing 160. So instead, she puts both hands on the wheel, two and ten, tries at the very least not to let her eyes flutter closed. Which gives Jamie the perfect opening to slowly (god, fuck, so slowly, too slowly) trail a hand of her own up Seb's thigh. 

"I wonder if I'll ever get tired of watching you," Jamie whispers, a hot breath and drag of teeth against the hallow beneath Seb's ear. Her hand inches higher, bunches the torn fabric of Seb's dress up her lap as it goes. "Watching you shoot, watching you kill. There's a look you get, you know. In your eyes." Wandering fingertips inch below torn fabric, drag against the elastic of Seb's knickers, a tease, a warning. They carefully pull the cotton fabric to the side. Jamie pauses, just for a moment, fingers ghosting a promise of pressure against the folds of Seb's cunt, already so wet and hot and practically aching. And Jamie hasn't even really touched her yet. Fuck. 

Seb swallows, tightens her grip on the wheel, focusing on things like whether any of these trees would make good vantage points (not tall enough, not enough leaf coverage) or what part of the driver that is that's still stuck to the visor (Brain? Probably brain). Because she's still driving, still trying to make sure they get to the safe house unharmed, still trying to do her damn job even now. But then Jamie runs a finger up her slit, circles her clit once, twice, and if there was any rational thought, any excess focus left in Seb, it's gone now. 

"You know, I'm almost glad the job went sour," Jamie chuckles, takes Seb's earlobe between her teeth. "Because I got to see that look on your face. As you took them out. One. By. One. Like a good little solider. Ever my dangerous assassin." 

Jamie's all but moaning into Seb's ear, the words forming something awful and beautiful at the very center of Seb's chest. And combined with the way Jamie is dragging two fingertips over her entrance, she's lost all ability to think, is surprised the car is even still on the road at all. And fuck all, Jamie's still talking. 

"Oh, Tigerlily," she groans, licks a stripe up Seb's throat and kisses her way back down, leaves the beginnings of a bite against the juncture of shoulder and neck. "If the angel of death were to come for me tomorrow looking anything like you did today-" She keeps her fingers still, presses a thumb to Seb's clit and says, "I might just let her take me." Then she plunges both fingers in to the knuckle. 

And there's something not quite right about that, something shooting off warning signals somewhere in the back of Seb's mind, but it's all completely drowned out by the way Jamie's fingers curl inside her, the way her other hand moves to cup Seb's breast through her dress. All Seb can seem to do is arch into Jamie's hand, a wordless plea for more, desperately trying not to swerve when her own hands twitch against the wheel. 

"Though the way you look right now," Jamie slowly drags her fingers out, even more slowly thrusts them back in. "All flushed and panting and just dripping for me... I'd say that's a pretty close second." 

And that’s about all Seb can take. 

"Fuck it," she growls, nearly flipping the car in her haste to turn off the road. Jamie practically cackles in her ear, somehow manages to keep her fingers inside Seb as she drives them into an area almost completely concealed by trees. Every motion of Jamie's hand against her sends little ripples of pleasure up her spine. She can't get the car into park fast enough. The moment she does, she's sliding her seat back and practically dragging Jamie into her lap, swallowing up Jamie's laughter with lips and tongue and teeth. 

It can barely qualify as a kiss, all mess and no skill and just too fucking desperate. But it's perfect that way. Suits them. 

Jamie's dress is already ruined, so it takes little effort for Seb to ruin it further. It's reflex and experience (and near incapacitating lust) that moves her knife from thigh to hand and through the full length of Jamie's dress, cleavage to groin. It falls in tattered waves down Jamie's shoulders to pool around her waist, renders her completely, beautifully exposed. Leave it to Jamie to go bra-less for a meeting with the head of the Scandinavian Mafia. 

Jamie sighs into Seb's mouth as if reveling in the lack if confinement (not that her dress had been all that "confining" to begin with) and drags her fingers in and out of Seb in what feels almost like appreciation. It's a wires-crossed burn of too-much-not-enough, and Seb has to pull away, has to do something, has to touch and grab and claim and consume before she goes crazy. She breaks free of Jamie's mouth and tangles her fingers in the perfectly curled strands of hair, yanks Jamie's head back (probably too roughly, might get in trouble for that later) to expose her neck. Seb latches on to pale skin, sucks bright bursts of color into it like she's starving, actually might be, can't imagine ever getting enough. 

Jamie half moans, half laughs, scratches four harsh, red lines down Seb's arm, dragging the strap of her dress to hang limply in the curve of Seb's elbow. Her hand picks up a rhythm that's just this side of too hard (fucking perfect) between Seb's legs, and it's all Seb can do not to writhe against her. 

"I wish you could see yourself, Sebby. All coming apart at the seams. How easily the sniper's control can be broken." Jamie's voice is like silk, liquid and soft and very easily incapacitating. She chuckles, grips tight at the nape of Seb's neck when Seb drags the sharp edge of her teeth over a newly formed bruise. "Maybe," Jamie breathes. "When we get to the safe house, I'll fuck you right up against the bedroom mirror, let you watch yourself fall to pieces." 

And fuck if the sound of that doesn't make Seb damn near come right on the fucking spot. But as much as she would love for her to go on, Seb can't shake the thought that Jamie sounds far, far too composed right now. So in lieu of response, Seb refocuses her mouth from Jamie's neck to her breast, worrying the swiftly hardening nipple between her teeth, circling it with the tip of her tongue. 

"Oh _fuck_ , Seb..." Jamie groans abruptly. Much better. Even playing field. 

Well. Almost. 

It's a bit awkward, getting her hand between them at such close quarters, but eventually, Seb manages to get her own fingers beneath the waistband of Jamie's knickers. She's wet and hot and bucks against the contact, makes a noise in the back of her throat when Seb starts massaging her clit, teasing at her entrance. The rhythm of Jamie's fingers falter within her; Seb can feel Jamie's whole hand twitch against the overly sensitive skin. Just a bit more and Seb will be lost, finally careening over the edge, but the way Jamie shivers and moans and grinds against her touch. That's almost better. 

The windows are fogging, the car is humid with the smell of sex and Jamie and leather and blood and Jamie is suddenly yanking Seb up, crushing their mouths together. This time it isn't a kiss at all, just a desperate and wet slide of tongues, a mashing of mouths and heavy, shared breaths. Jamie's mumbling incoherent gasps of, "Fuck," and, "Yes," and, "More, right there, god, don't stop," all interspersed with a whimper and groan of Seb's name. Bursts of hot sound shared between their lips. 

Jamie’s close, Seb can practically taste it on her tongue, feel it in the way her hand has fallen still between Seb's thighs, as if she can't help but focus solely on the oncoming promise of pleasure. Seb doesn't blame her, can't wait to see her give in, crumble, fall apart beneath Seb's hand. And when Seb finally, finally buries two fingers deep into Jamie's dripping cunt, she does. Jamie tenses, actually reaches between them to hold Seb's hand in place as she grinds down hard, spams around her fingers, let's her head fall back. Jamie's never loud, never fake, not when she actually lets go. It's those moments Seb considers herself the luckiest, when she gets to witness Jamie at her most vulnerable, her most true. When she's as close to herself as she will ever let anyone see. 

It's such a beautiful (incredibly fucking arousing) sight, the way Jamie's mouth falls open and her eyes flutter closed, the way Seb's hand is wet with her all the way to the wrist, that it's almost enough for Seb too. She can feel herself teetering, a single push away, hair trigger, a band about to snap. And Jamie must sense it as well, because the moment she comes back to herself, Jamie's hand starts moving again. It doesn't take much after that, a curl of Jamie's fingers, a brush of her thumb over Seb's clit, and she's falling, crashing, burning, (surely literally) crumbling into pieces the way Jamie wanted her to. She feels completely undone, drowning in heat and pleasure and the sight, smell, taste of Jamie, both longing and dreading to be put back together again. She never wants it to end. 

But everything does, always will, and eventually she starts returning to her body, starts becoming aware again. Of how the air conditioning is cooling the sweat on their skin, or how the blood on the windshield is starting to get tacky. Or how Jamie seems perfectly content to simply leave her fingers buried to the knuckle between Seb’s thighs. 

Seb smiles, removes her own fingers from Jamie’s cunt and wipes her hand on the tattered remains of her dress. Not half bad for a quick, mid-getaway fuck, if she says so herself. The afterglow is pleasant enough, at least. 

After a few more moments, once their hearts have slowed and their breaths have turned less heaving, Jamie finally pulls her fingers out. The sensation is a nice blend of just right and too much, but then Jamie pops both fingers into her mouth, licks them clean, and it's very suddenly not enough at all. 

Seb groans, "You're insatiable." She smirks too though, helping Jamie settle herself back into the passenger seat before sliding her own seat forward again, pulling the car back onto the road. 

"Pot, kettle, darling," Jamie grins, leans back in the seat like she hasn't a care in the world. Regardless of the fact that she's now presently, completely topless, a passing car away from public indecency. Seb has to force herself not to glance at Jamie too much, trying her best to navigate the road again now that the desperation has ebbed. But Jamie's not making it easy. 

So Seb decides to distract herself, clears her throat. "You still haven't told me, Boss," she says as nonchalantly as she can. "Why you were staring at me like that." 

"Didn't I?" Jamie hums, drums her perfectly manicured nails against the door as she stares out the window. Enough time passes that Seb stops expecting her to answer. Then, finally, she mumbles, "You saved my life." 

The 50/50 choice, the last two hit men, a split second decision fueled by gut instinct and a whole hell of a lot of luck. It already seems like ages ago. And it's not the first time she's saved Jamie's life by any means, but maybe this time is different. Feels different. 

Seb thinks about answering that she'd sacrifice herself in a heartbeat for Jamie, that it's her job, her life, that this definitely won't be the last time she saves her arse either. But instead, Seb just shrugs, throws Jamie another teasing smirk. 

"That fuck and his terrible aim saved your life. I just took advantage." Seb looks back at the road. "Couldn't have the angel of death coming for you just yet. Even if she does end up being as sexy as me." 

At first, Jamie doesn't reply, just stares and stares with that same unnerving expression, but eventually, at last, she laughs. Loud and high and echoing madly within the confines of the car. 

"Can't keep the angel of death waiting forever, Tigerlily," she says once she can get the words out through her remaining giggles. Then, before Seb can comment or analyze (more red flags there), Jamie is tucking a strand of mussed, blond hair behind Seb's ear, leaning back in to lick up the shell of it. "And I wouldn't keep me waiting either. If I were you." 

Seb grins, kicks the car into gear and floors it. There will be time for analyzing later, when the adrenaline has faded and they're both content, sated (or as much as they can be, considering). For now, Seb just mumbles, "You're the boss," and proceeds to follow her orders. Always has, always will.


End file.
